


Skulduggery

by traumschwinge



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Day Off, Fluff, Healer Anders (Dragon Age), M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:25:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: Anders has a very strange day, with little patients and lots of running around. Somebody is clearly playing some kind of game with him, but it doesn't seem to be malicious and he can't really prove anything.





	Skulduggery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accidental](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidental/gifts).



> Crossposted from Tumblr with minor edits.  
> Written for the prompt "Skulduggery", hence the title.

It had been a slow morning in the clinic, turning into a noon that promised even less to do. It was strange. As if the entirety of Low- and Darktown had on this day decided not to get sick, stabbed, burnt or otherwise get into need of a healer. That almost never happened, not even on holidays when everyone seemed to think they could put off a visit to the clinic for another day or two.

Anders sighed.

He was just about to withdraw to the back, to replenish his stock of potions or other busywork he could find there, when a boy burst into the clinic, barely remembering to slow down after running through the door. Anders had to catch him by his shoulders to prevent him from just running him over.

“You gotta come, quickly,” the boy panted, not even bothering to catch his breath. “Mother. The baby. Quick.”

Anders furrowed his brow. He knew the boy and his mother, but she wasn’t that far into her pregnancy for this to be anything other than worrying. She wasn’t due for another couple of months and was mostly seeing a midwife about it. His eyes flickered over the boy, the blotchy flush of his skin from the running, the unsteady rise and fall of his heaving chest, how he couldn’t keep from fidgeting. Anders sighed again, grabbing his satchel ready for these kinds of emergencies. It wasn’t like anyone at the clinic needed him at the moment anyway.

“Lead the way,” he said, nodding at the boy in what he hoped was an encouraging way.

The boy didn’t hesitate a second before he dashed out of the clinic again, leaving it to Anders to run after him. They didn’t stop until they reached the boy’s home, a small room with curtains partitioning off the designated sleeping area in a corner of Darktown. Anders had to lean against the frame of the door for a moment to catch his breath, before he could take a look around the room.

He hadn’t expected to see the mother sitting on a chair. He hadn’t expected her to be able to sit at all, from how they boy had acted. He’d especially not expected her to sit by a table full of food, sewing in hand and smiling serenely.

He took a step back.

“No, don’t leave,” the boy chirped, suddenly at Anders’ side again, taking his hand and gently pulling him toward the table, away from the door.

“Stay,” a girl, probably the boy’s sister, added, tugging at his other hand much the same way the boy did.

“But-” Anders glanced to the mother for help.

She set her sewing down with a sigh. “Don’t say you can’t spare half an hour for lunch. Please.”

“But…” Anders tried to protest once again. He thought of his clinic, then of his empty stomach, equally guilty about both. He sighed. “I thought something had happened with the baby.”

The woman’s smile brightened. “Well, you’re not wrong.” She put a hand on her stomach.

“The baby started kicking,” the girl declared in an awestruck voice.

“Oh.” Anders couldn’t think of anything else to say. Stunned as he was, it was just the easiest to let himself be pushed into a chair by the boy. A plate full of food was put in front of him as the children sat down as well, hurrying to put food on their own plates.

There was more than enough food for four, much more than Anders would have expected to even be found in a Darktown home. It could make one wonder who’d paid for it. Knowing his suspicions couldn’t be proven at this point, he pushed them aside. The food was good, too, which helped.

Still, mostly to soothe his own guilty conscience, he kept asking about everyone’s health, making sure all three of them were alright, that the baby was doing fine.

He returned to his clinic after they’d eaten, the mother shooing him off when he offered help with the cleanup. For about two hours after that, he got to work—just dull busy work, still no patients to speak of—without interruption.

The interruption came in form of one of Lirene’s employees, sauntering into the clinic whistling, one hand swinging a basket.

Anders merely raised an eyebrow. Was this what today was going to be like?

“Lirene asks if you could go make a couple of house calls for her,” the runner said, like spooling of a well-practiced phrase. She reached into the basket, pulling out a list which she held out to Anders like a shield. “I have addresses.”

Anders took the list and looked it over, not even trying to suppress a groan. “This would take all afternoon,” he protested.

The runner shrugged. “I’m just the messenger. But… Lirene said to watch the clinic and come fetch you if something important comes up.” The words sounded like the chance of anything at all coming up was near zero.

Anders looked over the list again. Most addresses were in Lowtown. He owed Lirene, would always owe her, for all her help and all the work she passed his way. For sending Hawke. There wasn’t anything to do in the clinic anyway. Some time out in the sun, above ground, would do him good.

That last thought almost sounded like Justice, if only it didn’t sound like him at all.

“What do I have to bring?” Anders sighed, resigned to the fate Lirene’d bestowed upon him for the day. It could be worse.

The runner shrugged. “The basket. But… I don’t think you’d go wrong with a couple of poultices, either. Maybe.” A sheepish smile accompanied the words.

“A couple of poultices,” Anders repeated in a low murmur. He accepted the basket and dropped a medium sized jar inside, followed by a couple of bandages and salves, too, just to be sure. He didn’t check what Lirene had sent, in small labeled parcels, all wrapped up in cloth and tied shut. The basket was full and slightly heavy. Eight names, eight parcels. This was going to take a while.

The first person on the list turned out to be an old woman, living on her own in a tiny home in a dark side alley. She made Anders drink a cup of tea while he eased the pain in her joints, while he listened to her talk. Lirene had sent her dry food and tea.

A man with a bad leg that needed to be wrapped with poultice and bandages, who would need help with rewrapping in a couple of days even if Anders left enough material for it. Another elderly woman with bad hands and bad shoulders who Anders ended up helping with brushing her hair because she asked him to. Ailments of old age upon ailments of long, hard lives. And every single person he visited insisted on having tea. Every single parcel held food.

Anders was exhausted by the time he left the last house on the list. He should ask Lirene about those people she’d sent him to. He should ask who was bringing them the more or less fresh water he’d seen in the kitchens, who was usually bringing them food. Who didn’t have the time to spare for a little talk each day. 

The lantern above the clinic’s door had been extinguished when Anders returned. There was, however, still light inside, visible through small cracks in the doors. Somebody was waiting for Anders inside. Or maybe, the runner had just forgotten to extinguish the lights when she’d left.

And yet, his thoughts didn’t go to the worst possible options like they usually would. No, his thoughts went to Hawke, hoping,  _ knowing _ , it would be Hawke waiting for him, signalling the end of a strange day. Justice felt unusually content about the thoughts, almost as if he was finally conceding that Hawke wasn’t entirely bad.

Or maybe even good. Now that was a thought.

It was Hawke, actually him, who was waiting for Anders inside the clinic, sitting on one of the cots with a book in his hand. He looked up when he heard Anders close the door behind himself, dropping the book when he recognized him, up on his feet and closing the distance to Anders in a mere moment.

Anders leaned into the embrace with a content sigh, returning it awkwardly with only one arm, the other occupied with the empty basket he was still carrying.

“Hello,” Hawke said when he eventually pulled back, just enough to kiss Anders on the nose. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hawke, I live here,” Anders sighed, rolling his eyes. The fondness he felt bubbling in his chest for the man in front of him threatened to take his breath away. He rested his head against Hawke’s shoulder, slumping only a little. “I had a strange day.”

“Really?” Hawke asked. He had his arms wrapped around Anders once more, holding him close. “Strange how?” He sounded entirely too innocent.

“Almost no patients all day,” Anders counted off. “A boy dragged me out under false assumptions on my part just so I could have lunch with him and his family. Lirene send me around houses to have tea with lonely old people while I soothed their aches. And now you’re here.” He paused for a moment. “Do you really think I wouldn’t assume you’d something to do with it like this?”

“What kind of person would conspire with Lirene and then pay some Darktown urchin two whole Sovereigns to drag you away and make sure you eat?” Hawke was grinning, not even trying to pretend anymore. One of his hands wandered up Anders’ back and started to rub over his tense shoulders. “You need a break every once in awhile.”

Anders frowned.

“What? Don’t tell me you disagree.” Hawke was trying his best to play it light but Anders knew him well enough by now to catch the worry beneath.

“No.” Anders shook his head. “Justice agrees with you.”

“And you?”

A shrug. Breaks were… difficult. Scary. Hard to navigate. It was easier to just constantly keep busy, keep going.

“You know, I meant to take you back home with me for dinner and maybe, I mean I hoped,you’d stay the night after that?” Hawke was moving his hands around aimlessly, fingers flexing against Anders whenever he stopped for a moment. “Only if you want to, of course.”

“I-” Anders started and then stopped because Justice was starting to give him a headache by- what, exactly? Trying to soften his reluctance? Anders shook his head to clear it. “Fine,” he sighed. “You win. Both of you. Just let me drop this somewhere and we can leave.” He pulled back a little and gestured aimlessly with the empty basket.

“Both?” Hawke arched an eyebrow, even though he was still grinning. He took the basket from Anders and put it down on the nearest crate, before putting an arm around Anders yet again. He was already steering them toward the door when Anders replied.

“You know exactly who.” Anders rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you conspired with him. Behind my back, so to speak. I can’t believe you.”

“Which one of us are you talking to?” Hawke was amused, maybe a bit too much. Anders pinched him in the side. “Ow. Ow. Ok, you’re talking to both, then.” He shrugged. “We just discovered recently we do have some common ground. That’s all.”

“What common ground?” Anders asked suspiciously. The combination of Hawke and Justice, united with a common goal and common methods, smelled more like disaster than either of them alone already would. But, they’d reached the cellars of Hawke’s estate, with its familiar smell of wine barrels and crates of stored food and the fresh smell of cooking growing stronger the closer they got to the entrance. He could be persuaded to worry about it later.

Hawke stopped, turning around so he could look at Anders, his hands resting on Anders’ shoulders without gripping too tightly yet. It wasn’t bright enough in the cellar to make out any details of his face, but the fond look he always had before he would say something incredibly stupid and sappy was unmistakable.

“We both want nothing more than keep you safe,” Hawke said. He sounded so convincing, so sincere, that Anders’ knees budged under him, threatening to give out. Hawke’s grip shifted to hold him upright, to allow him to lean against him. “And, ah, if I… drag him into some devious plans for that end, you’ll forgive me, right?”

Anders looked up at Hawke. He knew what Hawke was aiming for. It only made it worse, that swell of emotion in his chest that was about to swallow all breath from him. “I love you,” he said because it was the only cure he could think of. His hands flew to either side of Hawke’s face and held him in place while he kissed him as if he were drowning. 


End file.
